


The House with the Red Door

by lachatblanche



Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, sort of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is in training at the gym the first time he hears about Charles Xavier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House with the Red Door

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second attempt to write Charles/Steve (although it's more Gen than anything else). Charles's background is completely different from canon, but Steve's is roughly the same up till the end of Cap 1.
> 
> Also, despite being very much tempted to continue with it, it is likely that this story will remain a one-shot (at least for the forseeable future).

Steve is in training at the gym the first time he hears about Charles Xavier.

‘He helps people,’ a dark-eyed, affable young man named Darwin tells him earnestly as he watches Steve lift weights. He’s been in the gym with Steve many times – often enough to know that Steve spends most of his time there, as if doing his best to avoid the outside world. Needless to say, Darwin does not approve, and this is not the first time that he has voiced his concerns about Steve’s self-imposed isolation. ‘ _Special_ people. Maybe not exactly like yourself, but close enough. You should go see him.’

Steve listens patiently throughout his speech and then politely thanks him for his concern and promptly goes back to lifting weights. Darwin waits by his side for a moment, before sighing resignedly and reluctantly going back to his own workout. They spend the rest of the morning in silence, and the issue is not mentioned again.

Steve doesn’t intend to go and see this Xavier but the name sticks with him even so, somehow sinking into his consciousness despite himself. It is for this reason that he finds his ears pricking up when, several days later, he hears the gym’s wizened old owner, the white-haired, bespectacled Mr. Lee, telling a young man with tired, bruised eyes much the same thing that Darwin had said to him:

‘Go see Xavier. He can help you, if you let him.’

Although still somewhat sceptical, Steve’s curiosity is nevertheless piqued enough that the next time he runs into Darwin at the gym, he asks him about Xavier.

‘The Prof?’ Darwin answers eagerly, looking pleased to be asked. ‘Are you planning on seeing him, then?’

‘I think I’d like to know what he does first,’ Steve says mildly, the title ‘Prof’ already being filed away in his mind for later examination. ‘What is he, some sort of psychiatrist?’

‘Oh no,’ says Darwin, quickly shaking his head. ‘Though I’m pretty sure that he’s more than qualified. He’s a teacher, and a good man. A friend, if that’s what you’re looking for. You should see him … talk to him – not in any official sense, if you don’t want to. Just – talk to him, if you can. If you want. I promise you, you won’t regret it.’

And that’s how Steve finds himself wandering along a quiet, pleasant street in search of Charles Xavier, not quite sure what it is that he is doing and what he intends to get out of it. He walks past a number of houses – old, well-built but perfectly normal houses – trying to figure out what to say when he meets Xavier. He decides that ‘hi’ is probably the best place to start.

As he walks on, he comes to a stop in front of a house with a bright red door, the only house on the otherwise conservative street to have such a startlingly bright feature. 

‘You’ll find it easy enough,’ Darwin had told him with a knowing look. ‘Look for the house with a door like a fire engine. That’s the one you want.’

Steve pauses outside the gate for a moment, looking in at the door and hesitating, unsure what to do now that he is finally here. He is so preoccupied that he doesn’t notice the figure in the garden in front of him until he unconsciously takes a step back, on the verge of turning and walking away.

The figure is bent over a flower bed. Steve can’t see much of him but he can clearly make out the fuzzy blue cardigan that the man is wearing above a pair of loose, dark trousers, and this, together with the memory of Xavier being nicknamed ‘the Professor’ leads him to believe that the man bent over in front of him is indeed the man that he has been looking for.

It is too late to do anything but stand there; before Steve can give another thought to leaving, the man straightens up and turns towards him with an enquiring look, and for a moment Steve finds himself speechless. Instead of the solemn, older gentleman that he was expecting he is instead faced with a fresh-faced, floppy-haired young man that looks even younger than he does. As Steve continues to stare, the man approaches, eyeing him curiously and with a small, tentative smile on his face.

‘Can I help you?’ the man asks, and his voice is light and English-accented. Steve can’t help but remember Peggy.

He swallows and clears his throat. ‘Hi,’ he says, feeling a little awkward. ‘I’m here to see Charles Xavier. Is he around?’

The man in front of him blinks and then smiles, a wide, genuine smile unfurling across his face. ‘I should say so,’ he says, with more than a touch of humour. ‘He is standing in front of you, after all.’

Steve knows that he should not be entirely taken aback by this, but he still cannot help but voice his surprise. ‘You’re the Professor?’ he asks, hoping that Xavier will not be insulted by his tone.

Xavier chuckles. ‘That is what people call me, yes,’ he says, still smiling and apparently not the least bit insulted by Steve’s surprise.

‘Oh,’ Steve runs his eye over the man in front of him. ‘I’m sorry, I just thought you’d look … older.’

Xavier lets out a bark of laughter at that, his blue eyes twinkling in a way that is really quite lovely. ‘I could say much the same to _you_ , Mr. Rogers,’ he says, his mouth turning upwards in an impish smile. ‘You, after all, don’t exactly look as if you’ve been around for almost a century.’ His tone sounds almost appreciative.

Steve finds himself going slightly pink at that for no reason that he can precisely pinpoint. ‘You know who I am, then,’ he says instead, straightening up and allowing himself to finally relax his shoulders; they had been tense from the moment he had walked down the road.

Xavier gives a slow nod. ‘Yes,’ he says meditatively. ‘I recognised you almost immediately. I have followed your career with great interest, Mr. Rogers – and even if I hadn’t, I have other … advantages that would have allowed me to identify you.’

Steve feels a spark of curiosity at that but, as ever, his manners always take precedence. ‘Please,’ he says politely. ‘Call me Steve.’

Xavier smiles at that, his expression happy and pleased. ‘And you must call me Charles,’ he says, standing there with his hands in his pockets and looking at Steve with more genuine friendliness than Steve has ever felt directed his way by a single person. ‘Would you care for some tea, Steve?’

Steve hesitates.

‘I was about to put on a pot for myself,’ Charles says lightly, lowering his gaze and idly tugging at a loose thread in his cardigan, solicitously allowing Steve a few moments to think things through without having someone else’s eyes on him. ‘It really would be no bother. I would even go so far as to say that it would be an unmitigated pleasure.’

‘Well,’ Steve finds himself saying hesitantly, ‘If you’re sure it wouldn’t be any trouble …’

‘Nonsense,’ Charles says briskly, flashing him another one of those smiles and then jerking his head towards the big red door. ‘Come in, it’ll take no time at all.’

Steve hesitates before reaching out and pushing the gate open, and then stepping through and onto the path up to the house. He closes the gate behind him and when he turns back, Charles Xavier is waiting for him at the door, smiling brightly at him as if Steve’s appearance at his home is the best thing that has happened to him all day.

‘Come on,’ Charles says gently, still smiling, and then turns and walks into the house.

Steve stands there for a minute, looking up at the house with its well-kept garden and its bright red door. Then he takes a deep breath and, with a sensation almost like anticipation rising in his chest, he follows Charles up the path and into the house, shutting the door gently behind him.


End file.
